Hot hot and hotter… Tories self-immolate

Yeah well, Europe burns (literally) in record climate-change created heat, and our country is totally ungoverned as the Tories go even more rogue than usual, aided and abetted by the right-wing press. Who cares which of the demented, egotistical cretins becomes Prime Minister?  Who will fall for their insane lies about cutting taxes? Battleaxe wouldn’t employ any of them to sweep the roads… and that is insulting to road-sweepers.  Meanwhile, have been doing hot summery things here in baking Hastings…

Blue skies and bottlebrush at Battleaxe Towers…

There are dreadful wild fires in Portugal. Not surprisingly I worry about daughter Clara and her little family in rural Sao Marcos de Serra, but from what we saw when were there, the village is not immediately surrounded by forest. They last had massive fires nearby in 2018, but they never reached the village.  Nevertheless, it is currently desperately hot for them as the country faces record-breaking heat and drought.  Meanwhile, back here,  it is likely that whichever fool becomes our PM, they will scrap the climate net zero thing…

Fires in Portugal

I can’t be bothered to go ranting on about politics, but may do more in a few days time – on Sunday morning I am going to the local Labour shindig to elect our prospective parliamentary candidate.  The issue has caused massive local conniptions already because Labour NEC has imposed a ‘long’ list of three candidates on our constituency, disregarding the wishes of the local party group. I have to say none of the three totally inspire me.  A young woman, Helena Dollimore, is obviously very ambitious,  talented, has a slick publicity machine and has much support, but last time we had a young woman candidate here (Sarah Owen, who is now a very successful MP in Luton), the local voters didn’t want her. We don’t need another talented, but too young, Labour hopeful using us to practice on.  And I don’t like this… Then there is Christine, a nice, sensible woman who actually called round to see me.  If she was the practice nurse allocated to examine one’s piles it would be most reassuring, but don’t know if she is MP material. Then there is some grey man we know nothing about. However, all this may change when I see these people in action on Sunday…

Helena D, aged 28, apparently

So, what of life here? Yes, it is hot. Very hot. Our garden is a shrivelled-up desert, or would be if I didn’t keep watering it. Bring on the hosepipe ban why don’t you Southern Water? (When you’ve finished discharging sewage into the sea and not mending broken water mains).

In the last blog post I wrote all about our Turkish holiday but didn’t mention that poor Philosopher got a DVT in his leg… the GP said is it was hardly surprising given his big operation, him having Covid, and then the flight delays. I now read that it has been demonstrated that Covid causes increased risk of blood clots. Who knew? I have to say we thought nothing of it when he said half way through the holiday that he had a pain in his calf – thought he had pulled a muscle swimming. But then his ankle was swollen, so thought we’d better check it out when we got back. Needless to say after 45 minutes hanging on for GP to answer, the receptionist told him there were no face-to-face appointments until 26 July! So he called 111, who messaged the surgery – who then said come straight down. He has now had scans and things and is on the proper drugs, so clot(s) should dissolve in their own time without doing any damage.

Would you believe we have also been doing some outside domestic sorting and purging. What – in this heat? I read that us oldsters should be confined to darkened rooms with our feet in bowls of iced water, but us? Why not get out in the sun and clear out a few sheds… To make matters worse, on Saturday Fred the Hedge Man made his traumatic annual visit to cut the huge hedge at the back plus other ancillary bits of burgeoning foliage. Darkened room? Us? no, we were out there gathering up cuttings.

Back to the sheds. When we moved in here 10 years ago we had a lovely shed/summer house installed in the garden, at vast cost. It was supposed to be an art-shed-cum-studio-cum-writers’-retreat. What is it now? A spider-infested-general-dumping-ground-garden-crap-heap. Recently we have visited several open gardens where sheds like ours have been turned into beautiful, retro-themed snuggeries draped with ethnic wall-hangings and fairy lights, full of 1950s armchairs and copies of ‘Country Living’ magazine. Ours will never be like that but at the moment it is an absolute waste of a lovely space. Would you believe we also have another garden store shed round the far side of the house which again is/was full of junk and spiders, so that has to be cleared and sorted ready to take all the garden stuff before the big shed can be tackled. Lots of things on FB marketplace… Granted, progess is slower than it might be, but change is under way.

Shed – before…

I’ve been swimming in the sea today with Philosopher, and yesterday, with the WI Book Club. Just right discussing what we have just read while floating about in the waves. Given that the sea temperature in Hastings doesn’t reach its highest until end August, early September, it was remarkably warm. We went to friends Jan’s beach hut. Here are a couple of pics. Yes, OK I look a bit fat but am just back from hols and have also gained half a stone over the pandemic which has not budged.

 

 

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